The Flow of Energy
by Sisyphus
Summary: Severus Snape is in physical and emotional pain as he contemplates life without Albus Dumbledore


**Disclaimer:** JKR owns everything - I'm just playing with it.

**A/N:** Mild HBP spoilers . . . you've been warned!

-----------------------------------------------------

Severus Snape unbent from his cauldron, his back aching. He arched back, trying to undo the hours spent hunched over at the table and was rewarded with a shooting pain which traveled the length of his spine and settled into a dull ache in his shoulder.

"Damn!" he cursed to himself, "I don't have time for this right now."

The last time he'd worked this long and hard and gotten his body twisted up like a pretzel, it had taken over three weeks and innumerable potions to put his body back into functioning order again. With the term almost here, and lesson plans for his new subject to prepare, he didn't have the leisure of three weeks' time.

Time . . . who knew how much time there really remained? For Dumbledore, it had certainly run out. Severus had managed to finally slow the progression of the curse, but he had been unable to halt it entirely, let alone reverse its effects. And the vow! Severus could feel a headache forming at the thought of the vow and what effects it might yet yield. It was never an easy game, to play the spy in the Death Eater's circle – but Bellatrix had become very dangerous since her fall from the Dark Lord's favor. Severus tensed at this thought and felt a sharp stab of pain run up his neck, causing him to flinch.

"Damn, damn, damn!"

"Well, we are in a good mood this afternoon, I see," said a kindly voice over his shoulder. Severus attempted to swirl around quickly, only to find it caused more shooting pains. With a grimace on his face, Severus replied, "As ever, Headmaster. Is everything alright? May I help you with something?"

"I came for some more of your wonderful Strengthening Solution, Severus. It seems to be just what the healer ordered," Dumbledore answered.

"Of course, Headmaster," he replied. Severus tried not to think about how much of this potion Dumbledore had been taking recently. It pained him to think of how much weaker he had become over the last few weeks. Severus stood up, wincing a little as he did so. He crossed the room to his potions store cupboard and retrieved a couple small vials of the potion.

"These should last you for another week or so," Severus said, "I shall be making more soon, but these are the last of the batch."

"Severus, you are taking too much upon yourself. You know as well as I that Horace Slughorn will be arriving with the Hogwarts Express next week. You needn't continue to supply potions once our new Potions Professor arrives."

"All the same, Headmaster, I would prefer to brew this particular potion myself."

"Ah, I see," was Dumbledore's only reply, but there was a warm glow in his eyes as he said it.

"You know, Severus, you look like you could use a good dose of this potion yourself. Have you been overtaxing yourself again?" There was concern in the old man's eyes now.

"No, I'm fine, Headmaster, truly. Nothing a hot bath and good night's sleep won't cure."

Dumbledore was looking at Severus very closely now with those piercing blue eyes. Severus hated it when the Headmaster looked at him this way; it was as if he could see right through him. He felt like an errant school boy who had been found out on some petty crime, unable to conceal the truth. Just as well the Dark Lord didn't have this effect on him, Severus thought to himself, or he'd have been killed long ago.

"I've just had an amazing idea, Severus," began the Headmaster.

"Yes?" inquired Severus, a bit apprehensively. Albus Dumbledore was a man of incredible intellect and far-reaching vision, whose ideas were usually worth hearing. Except, of course, when he had that twinkle in his eye, as he had now, which usually prefaced an officious interference of some sort or another. Oh bother, Severus thought to himself. As if reading his mind, Dumbledore continued with a rather playful smile on his face. Snape might have labeled that expression a smirk, however.

"Yes, indeed, I know just the thing. Allow me to make a few arrangements. I'll contact you tonight once I have everything settled."

"Should I bother asking what you have in mind?" asked Severus a bit sharply. He really was tired and not in the mood for this.

"Oh, anything worth doing is never a bother," Dumbledore answered in his usual evasive fashion. Severus wanted to sigh.

"It's just, I would like to prepare myself for . . . whatever it is you have in store for me, Headmaster," Severus explained, attempting to moderate the irritation in his voice. At that, Dumbledore simply chuckled and let himself out the door. A final, "Thank you again, Severus," and then the door closed softly behind him.

Argh. It was no use trying to be angry with the man, he thought to himself, as he rubbed his face with one of his hands, because he could never stay that way. Odd, he mused to himself, this inability in someone who otherwise had a definite talent for nursing old wounds, stoking the fires of his hatred. Time to get back to work, he thought to himself, and bent again over the steaming cauldron, checking if it was yet time to add the powdered beetle legs, trying to ignore the searing pain in his back and neck.

Later that evening, the sentence was handed down. Dumbledore had given the missive to one of the house-elves to deliver. What was the name of this one again? 'Wobby'? 'Dinky'? Strange little elf, anyways, always had a stack of tea cozies piled atop his head.

"For the love of - !" exclaimed Snape, as he finished reading the note. Severus groaned inwardly. Muggle torture, he wants to subject me to Muggle torture! The man is mad; a raving lunatic runs this school. He'd do it though - for him. What wouldn't he do for Albus Dumbledore?

At two o'clock precisely, Severus Snape arrived at the appointment site. Muggles everywhere; he'd had to don Muggle clothing on top of everything. Blast that meddling Headmaster! After filling out a few forms, Severus was lead into a small warm room and asked to wait. There was soft, strange music playing, haunting almost. Must be a muggle instrument, Severus thought to himself, one he hadn't heard before; sounded like a flute, only different, somehow. He was reminded of Fawkes, and a smile crept upon his face.

The healer came into the room. 'Healer'! More like 'muggle quack', thought Severus viciously. Honestly, did the Headmaster really think this would work better than the potions he could brew for himself? Potions he _should_ be, _could_ be brewing right now, instead of wasting time on this medieval torture ritual. Well, it was much older than that, he corrected himself. 3,000 years or so, as the Headmaster had happily explained to him at breakfast. The thought had alleviated some doubts, he must admit. Any learning that had been practiced and honed for 3,000 years couldn't be so far wrong, could it? He would have resignedly told himself that it couldn't hurt to try, except that he had a feeling it _was_ going to hurt. Needles. They were going to put needles under his skin. And he was going to let them. Well, it couldn't be as bad as 'Crucio', he thought, and snorted at the idea.

The healer was looking at him with a bemused look on her face, "First time using Acupuncture?" she asked.

"Yes, a . . . friend thought it would help."

The healer smiled, "Yes, I see Albus made your appointment. I hope he didn't force you into it, in that way he has."

Severus looked up at this, startled, "You are acquainted with the Headmaster?"

"Yes, he was a guest lecturer one summer at the Institute for Magical Maladies & their Cures in Bejing," she explained. "His work with the twelve uses of Dragon's Blood, you know," she continued, upon seeing the blank look on Snape's face, "Fascinating stuff." Albus Dumbledore, was there no limit to your deviousness?

"Shall we get started?"

Severus nodded, and then the healer proceeded to ask him a series of strange questions. She took his pulse, made him show her his tongue. Then, he was on the table, and she was explaining where she was putting the needles. He didn't even feel them go in. So odd, he had thought that it would be painful. He was starting to feel something though . . . she added the final needle, in the middle of his chin. That's when it happened.

Severus felt waves of emotion hit him; it was overwhelming, he couldn't control it. Without even knowing why, he felt tears sliding down his cheeks. What was going on?

"I'm feeling . . . emotional," he told the healer, a hint of fear in his voice.

"It's alright, it's just a release of the energy," she explained soothingly.

The hell it was! This was most certainly not alright, he thought, and then he couldn't think any further. Sobs were wracking his body. He was dimly aware of the healer telling him how to breathe, that everything was alright. He felt a warm hand on his head. He couldn't stop crying, the tears flowing freely. After a bit, his breathing slowed, and he was able to stop the more forceful sobs. When he had regained some control, the healer asked him if he wanted her to stay, or if she should leave him. Alone, he wanted to be alone. In the quiet darkness, he continued to fight against the resurgence of emotion, to will himself to be calm, to practice the breathing. In - one, two, three, out - four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. He'd never felt so brittle. Like spun glass heated too far, perilously close to the breaking point.

The healer returned and removed the needles. In a haze, he thanked her and heard her advise him to return. He started walking out. He could barely take in his surroundings. He'd never felt this vulnerable out in public before – it was unnerving. He wanted to get out of there as quick as possible, but felt like everything he was doing was in slow motion. He could almost still feel the needles in his skin, like ghostly remnants; he had to look down more than once, to make sure they weren't, in fact, still there.

A few days later found him now ensconced in his new classroom, hanging pictures. He reached up to align one of the photographs. No pain. In fact, after a day or so, the pain had completely left his back and shoulder; he hadn't needed any of his usual potions, after all. He smiled resignedly, Dumbledore had been right, as usual. How had he known? How did he always know? A sadness engulfed him as he contemplated the thought of life without the illustrious Headmaster. He couldn't. He wouldn't. They would find a way, there would be a way.


End file.
